


The Mating Habits of Two English Loons

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Kill Tonight [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:45:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Electric, firing off in his mind, that single image all wrapped up in the sort of intensity that had him live a lie for three years for the man, to risk life and death on a daily basis and tear down his entire life to save his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mating Habits of Two English Loons

It was no surprise to him when his companions abandoned an effort which truly demanded immediate analytical attention to hare off to their bedroom and waste time in venial pursuits. Still, he was breathless himself, and exhausted and _exhilarated_ with the possible implications of what had occurred in the factory, of who precisely they'd been chasing. Or might have been chasing. Or had been chasing a reasonable facsimile of thanks to new developments in hyper-realistic masks. It made his mind spin, made him need someone, someone _s_ to bounce his brilliant thoughts at for a period of time longer than it took to drive from the north back home, barely stopping at their hotel to regroup or grab luggage.

But no, John and Sebastian chose now to go and have life affirming sex when there was a crisis afoot. Admittedly, if it was indeed Moriarty, then he was long gone the moment he turned the corner, having no doubt planned to taunt them and then vanish. But really, what on earth was so distracting about sex?

It was an unbelievable waste of time when they could at _least_ be pursuing all of the possible avenues as to either Moriarty's reappearance -- which included his brother, as well as a more thorough search of the facility and its records, cameras... There was _so much_ to do. And he was down in the living room listening to the mating habits of two English Loons.

Sherlock fiddled around on his laptop for a bit and raised an eyebrow at some particularly loud exclamation, his curiosity making him wonder exactly what had caused that particular sound. He thought he was comparatively familiar with most of their expressions.

Apparently he wasn't familiar with _all_ of them, and it drew his attention a little. What was it about being _scared_ that made them seek that sort of attention?

He idly considered it and then found himself poking around to see if he could pick up the spy cam feeds he was sure Mycroft had had planted in the flat. He had a tendency to do that, even when Sebastian periodically cleared them out. Ah, only three. Mycroft was slipping. Still, one of them was in John and Sebastian's room

He settled onto his chair with his laptop, and waited for his eyes to resolve to the black and white grain of a camera picking out images. They'd left a light on, so at least it wasn't green and black images to peer at, as Sebastian had John pushed up against the bedroom wall, a hand down John's pants. It was a little surprising that there were still clothes involved at all.

Usually they were much faster. It was interesting. He noted that Sebastian had a fondness for pushing John against walls, or in the shower. Quite horrifying, really, the effect it had on the hot water. Why would John enjoy that? He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself from the half lidded eyes and blatant signs of arousal. Rapid breathing, a flush on his cheeks.

John tilted his head back a little, and Sebastian kept kissing at his neck. There wasn't really effective sound, but there _was_ minimal tinny sound. Nothing that was more interesting than their usual loud noises, though, and Sherlock could hear the thud on the ceiling above him as he watched Sebastian drop to his knees in front of John, unbuttoning his jeans.

The size difference didn't seem to be a problem. It was fascinating how adaptable the human body was. He was still trying to work out the first loud sound when he observed the redness of a bit mark. Ah yes, Sebastian's visceral need for a degree of roughness and pain. He supposed he could identify.

And John didn't seem to mind. No, John didn't mind at all. A bit of roughness, of excitement, caught and held his attention well. The edge of danger, even though he didn't specifically suspect the man was an actual danger in the bedroom. Not when he started to suck down John's cock like it might try to make an escape.

Of course when Sebastian got his way for something a little more kinky, there was an added dimension of muffle in there . But then it was almost an amusing game then to try and imagine what John might be doing. Sherlock considered; now that would be an evening's entertainment. An audio feed of intriguing sounds and working out what was happening. John was starting on long slow groans. It was strange to see John so unselfconscious about his scars. On the few occasions Sherlock had glimpsed them face to face, John had been very body-shy of them. He wanted the intimacy of their relationship as well.

They were proof of life in so many ways, after all. John was _alive_ and healthy, and invested in living. The scar on his shoulder, the surgery marks after he'd stupidly taken a bullet for Mycroft. Even smaller scars, they were interesting and laid out a clear roadmap of John's existence. With Moran, and his back to the camera, it was less of a roadmap and more of an elevation map in a mountainous region. Sherlock liked the look of John's leg coming over the man's shoulder, knee hooked comfortably in place, John's other leg half wrapped around his hips as they began to move together. "Uhm, christ..."

He could see John's intense concentration as he stilled himself and then gasped before relaxing. Interesting sounds, wonderfully expressive sounds with so much depth to them. That was definitely a 'oh god that burns, it feels big, I'm clenching down and now it feels good,' gasp.

It mingled with John's groans, and being able to see John's expression when he made the noise, the way his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth went slack, jaw relaxed as it started to turn into moans with Sebastian's small rocking thrusts. Sherlock adjusted his pan the minor fraction he could, but it got him more of John's expressions to add to the noises. And also John's knee. Sherlock leaned back in his seat, and pushed the palm of his hand against his dick again.

It was just a natural physical reaction to visual stimulus. There was something satisfying, exciting about cataloguing John's new expressions. He felt greedily possessive of each one, committing them to memory. He was enjoying it and he wanted to know more of them..wanted to tell him to do something a little different and tell Sebastian to do _this_ or move like _that_ to see what expressions would bloom.

He had no input, though -- he was only a passive observer, and so Sebastian was left to his poor person reading skills as he moved. Still, even though he was missing some nuance, John's expressions kept changing, building and shifting as they continued moving together. He was half-hearing words exchanged, but honestly, it didn't matter which of them was murmuring sultry nothings.

He resorted to reading lips when John seemed to be incoherent. Mine, he was saying, not letting him have you, never as if saying the words would make it so. Sherlock found himself mouthing the words as well.

It didn't change anything. Didn't take down a barrier, but it did make it easier to lose himself in the imagined reality in his head that overlapped with the reality coming out of his screen.

It wasn't that he imagined himself fucking John; the sex he had experienced was a pale substitute for thought and the mind, but he did imagine directing, drawing out how John would look if Sebastian kissed him just _there_ , at _that_ point or if he just saw that John obviously wanted him to move this way with a small twist. Moran was good, but he didn't have the skills he did. Likewise, with his focus slipping, he could see the telegraphed needs of Sebastian burning through his skin. The conflict of a need to possess and claim with his urge to be possessed and claimed himself.

It was hard to have it both ways, and even harder to have it both ways at the same time. It was just a shame he couldn't make his own watching _better_. Sherlock popped the top button of his slacks, pushing the zipper down with the back of his hand as he eased his hand in under his pants to take himself in hand. 

"Harder... faster..." He could hear John begging that and it made him stroke in time to Sebastian's movements and thrusts. 

And faster still, until he thought it was little wonder that Sebastian had back problems, moving that fast, goaded on by John's familiar voice.

He could hear the thumping of the bed, John's noises groans and whimpers building to a crescendo. His breath was harsh and he exhaled "Seb...Seb...Seb..." almost desperately.

Sherlock stroked fast and saw John's orgasm hit him like lighting and the sight of him, seeing it clearly sent a completely unexpected rush through him. Electric, firing off in his mind, that single image all wrapped up in the sort of intensity that had him live a lie for three years for the man, to risk life and death on a daily basis and tear down his entire life to save his life. He couldn't control it and that was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

He reached for what ended up being a dinner napkin off of the side table, and watched with his awkward angle as his two flatmates shifted position, with Sebastian settling at John's side, and curled against him, the two exchanging kisses and haphazardly trying to get the bedspread down. He as half sure he heard Sebastian utter 'restraining order', face mashed against John's hair.

He never remembered climaxing as hard. He was his, his John, his Sebastian.

Sherlock leaned back, strangely relaxed and nearly missed the moment where John looked directly towards the hidden camera and gave a slight quirk of a smile.


End file.
